The Mourning Star
by EternalWolvenFlame
Summary: This is the account of Aiedail, the first female rider of the new generation. This story is a tale of betrayel, and the love between Aiedail and Murtagh that dooms the two to an even harder existance.


DISCLAIMER: I did not write Eregon or Eldest, nor any of the Inheritance Trilogy

NOTE: Aiedail is a word in the ancient language meaning "the morning star" I do realize that my character could not possibly be neamed Aiedail, but I was really at a loss for names, so please forgive me for my mistake.

Notes of wordless song rose into a dim courtyard in Uru'baen. Then it progressed into an Elvish chant. It was an incantation the Elves sang to make plants rise from the Earth. There was only one to behold and hear the sounds of the female Rider. He was young, but only at year her elder, at 17. So engrossed in her spell was she that she didn't notice the silent figure. Her golden-blonde hair was splayed into her beautiful face; her slanted, elvish eyes were shut with passion. Like Eragon, she, too had been transformed. She could pass for a flawless elf maiden, now, and no one could even dream of her being human.

"Aiedail,' called the young man from the shadows. Aiedail's song ceased. She turned with the swiftness and grace of a doe. Her pale blue gaze fixed upon the strong and solemn figure of Murtagh. She regarded him warily as she stood her ground.

"Yes?" She asked, avoiding his eyes, though still she watched him. "You need rest..." He stated in a quiet but firm tone. "I'm fine," She lied in a soft and wavering voice. "Then why are you shaking?" Aiedail knew he had won and daren't pursue the argument any further. They had newly arrived to Galbatorix's castle, and hadn't the chance to recover from the long flight, nor the battle.

Aiedail hadn't even the chance to recover from the shock of Murtagh's forced allegiance. "Where were you?" She inquired to his absence for the past half hour when she had been confined to the courtyard without him. "I had to report to Galbatorix..." He stated bitterly, a certain edge to his low and usually controlled voice. "You will see him tomorrow..." His voice was blank, with no emotion to show.

"Come, let's get you cleaned up." He hooked her arm with his; she daren't fight back as he began to lead her into the grim fortress. He led her to where she could bathe, and posted guards at the door. Also, he made her swear it in the ancient language, which they both knew would bind her to her word.

She finally bathed undisturbed, and at peace. It had been so long since she had bathed so properly, or so it seemed. She washed off the grime of battle. Examining her injured back she lay a hand along the shallow, though painful wound. "Waise heill." She muttered and the wound healed. She gave a sigh of relief, and dipped her head back into the water. Finished, she dried off only to find a shining golden gown. It was beautiful, but bought by Galbatorix's gold. For that lone fact she despised it, but hadn't the choice but to wear it. Her armor, battle garb, and elven gown had been taken away. Her weapons had been stored in the armory to be returned to her only when she cooperated.

A knock sounded upon the door and echoed about the chamber. Aiedail quickly slipped on the dress and answered it, opening the door with care. There Murtagh stood. She swept past him. "No, you're not going anywhere." He grasped her upper arm, and led her in the opposite direction. "We've had a long week..." He said in a tone void of emotion. Aiedail looked up at him, she didn't know whether to love him or hate him.

She had missed him so, but he betrayed her, he betrayed the Varden. "Why did you do it, why did you betray us?" She asked softly, looking him in the eye. He dropped his gaze and exhaled. For a time there only the sound of their footsteps echoing down the stone hallway. "I had no choice!" He snapped suddenly then tried to regain control over himself.

His breath was heavy. He had released her. She looked to him with a shimmering and mournful gaze. Her hand lifted from her side and cautiously reached out to rest tenderly at his shoulder. His chest was heaving with the effort it was taking him to gain control. He didn't notice Aiedail's advance for many a minute. Murtagh took a deep, steadying breath.

Then Murtagh's gaze rested upon her hand. He looked her in the eye. She drew away. Beside them was a door. Regaining control over himself he clasped her hand, more gently than before. He pulled open the door. They now stood in Morzan's chamber, the chambers of the Forsworn...

Aiedail looked around the room, already hating every inch of it. She tried to turn and run, as she fnally came to terms with her fate, but Murtagh caught her. He closed the door, which shut with a heavy thud behind them. She looked up, trying to read his expression. There was nothing there. Though is eyes flared, his face was blank.

Without warning he lifted her off her feet and lay her upon the bed. Before she could do anything in her defense he lay a hand on her, then spoke a single work in the ancient language. ' _Sleep.' _The magic was powerful, but she knew hers was stronger, though he had caught her off her gaurd, and she was unable to fight it.

Her eyes were forced shut and her body relaxed. She passed into the elven dreaming state that was the sleep she knew. Murtagh stoodat her bedside, and covered her in the blankets. He leaned over her and lay a hand on each of her temples. He closed his eyes, then she felt a strong presence within the confines of her own mind. Quickly she drew up her defenses. Her barriers were thickest about the memories of her training.

Murtagh's temper was rising. How could she still fight him off so viciously in her sleep! He probed her mind less and less gently, trying to break into the vaults of her subconsciou for something; anything. The effort of fighting her was draining him off all the strength he had left. It was a battle to see who could hold out the longest.

Aiedail was clever. She began to draw upon his strength to supplement her own. He was no match for her, and he now realized this. He pulled away, breaking the contact between the two. Oromis had taught her well.

Breathing hard, Murtagh pulled a chir to her bedside. There he sat, glowering. He carefully drew Zar'roc for the first timesince he had taken it from his brother Eregon. He stared at his father's crimson blade for a long while as he set it upon his lap.


End file.
